


Young Envy

by Skeren



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-20
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-09 01:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skeren/pseuds/Skeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once a series of oneshots, these formed into a story of how Anime Envy became the bitter creature he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad Planning

  
He stared at the small bottle she had handed him, uneasiness clear in his gold eyes. He looked so much like his father, all gold and intelligence, and she knew he would do the right thing. He wanted his father's love too much to not even consider the idea, and they'd talked it over during the last week.

He was tired of his father not being there, and she was tired of being alone in her bed. They would both be happier after he did this, and it was only a little hitch, a small bump they needed to get over for it to happen. She had assured him repeatedly that she could fix it.

He really needed to have more trust in his mother, because that wary look simply didn't suit him in the least. Reaching out, she curled his fingers around the bottle. "I promise. It is reversible. I showed you my arrays already didn't I? Why are you hesitating?"

"This... I'm not sure it's worth it mother." The words were quiet, and he swished the silvery contents, never breaking off the eye contact with it. "There has to be another way for me to do this. Does it have to be so... drastic?"

"Have you discovered something you haven't told me?" The words were possibly sharper than intended, but the chagrined look he flashed her only lasted a moment.

Then the look turned to determination, his gaze meeting hers. "No, no I haven't mother. You're certain...?"

"Very. Drink it, I promise I will not abandon you to this."

He hesitated for just a moment, and then she watched her son open the bottle. Closing his eyes, he drank the mercury, trusting that his mother would catch him at the end of the fall.


	2. Bad Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beginning and ending in fever.

  
The footsteps approaching from his left were far too loud, too familiar. There was a steady cadence of it, like pacing, then he heard them stop right next to him, and he felt the bed dip. Seconds later he was subjected to icy air, drawing out a nearly painful shiver.

He didn't know why he felt so cold... The last thing he'd been aware of was the fever, then it had become so dark, a haze of phantom horrors. He didn't want to admit it was real, it couldn't have been real. They wouldn't _do_ that to him... they loved him, didn't they? Didn't they?

He nearly flinched when he felt a cool hand press along his cheek, brushing blond strands out of his eyes, and the action prompted him to crack open his gold eyes. He felt wrong. He didn't feel like himself, more angry, but so _hungry_, he knew no reason he should feel this way.

He remembered her, his mother. She'd always been such a strict woman, but a good woman, always giving him the attention he craved when his father ignored him. He didn't know this look though. It was possessive, calculating... He didn't understand what was going on.

"Don't fret so. What do you remember? Do you remember what happened? Who you are?" Her voice was too loud, and he realized everything was far harsher than it should be.

He swallowed, then spoke softly, still confused. "The fever. I remember that, and then it, I... Nightmares."

Her odd look spread, and she grinned in a most disturbing way as she heard the word nightmares. She pulled something out of her pocket, holding it in her fist. "Are you hungry? How do you feel?"

He remembered something then, a flash of insight. He'd been so sick because she'd been ignoring him! They'd done nothing to try to help him! He knew the sudden feeling showed in his face. "What do you care?"

His mother laughed then. She _laughed_! Still smiling far too widely, she uncurled her fingers, pressing the red object against his lips. "Such a jealous boy you are."

He didn't answer, instead entirely focused on the stone like object she'd slipped into his mouth, making him mewl a bit at the rush of power that swept him, brushing away the fever daze that had proceeded it. Gold eyes hardened as the 'nightmares' clarified into memories. "Mother..." It was merely a growl. He'd been _dead_, why did she do this to him?

"Hush child, my little envy. And please, it's Dante. It wouldn't be quite right for you to call me mother anymore, now would it?"

"No. No, it wouldn't, _Dante_." It would be many years until that bitterness turned from her, but by then, he'd be grateful he didn't see her as his mother anymore.


	3. Petty vanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [](http://swordage.insanejournal.com/profile)[**swordage**](http://swordage.insanejournal.com/)

  
He knew that he tended to draw attention. Often because of Dante, who used his barely controlled abilities to make him look like her perfect child. To make him look like himself. Sometimes it was because she used them to make him look far too much like _her_. The only good thing about following her demands was that he learned more control, paid more attention to detail.

To anyone who didn't know him, he would just look like a brooding lord, long blond hair tied at his nape by a black ribbon, as was the fashion, keeping it out of his face. His crimson and black velvets spotless as any lord's should be. But his mother knew he was a monster. He stayed with her because she knew about that horror, had seen him when he was incomplete. It was a view none of the other humans here would ever notice from the surface.

None of that mattered at that moment though. He was just Envy, being forced to play a role that was no longer his to play. He was no longer her child, and she was no longer his mother. Yet he still looked like that blond bastard. He still pandered to that whim because he didn't know what else he _should_ look like anymore. He didn't have any idea where to start, not unless he wanted to become a female, so he was brooding.

He wasn't sure if this was better than the last city, where she'd persisted that a young male who looked so little like her was unsuitable, that he needed to become a girl for her. He'd been disconcerted by how easy it had been to slip from one role to the other. He was almost sure she'd been toying with him, seeing how far his powers went. She hadn't even mentioned it when they'd come here, instead demanding he be her perfect son again. Just like she'd demanded every time before and since.

He didn't see why he needed to play to the expectations of these humans for her. She could do so much better without dragging him along with her from social circle to social circle. If she'd let him handle a different side of things then he wouldn't have to deal with the staring and the comments. He'd much prefer to just avoid the whole thing, but he knew that was unlikely.

His thoughts were interrupted by a murmur off to his right. It was easily ignored until he realized that the woman of the pair was watching him out of the corner of her eye, a slightly wicked grin on her face as she tilted her head back to peer up at her dark haired companion. Stepping a bit closer, their words became clear.

"But Milord! It's not my fault that none of them dare whisper that sir's nose is really more horseish than imperial. It makes it no less true." She snapped her fan open, fluttering it as though offended at the very idea.

"Don't hold it against the man, it's not as though he can change it." The murmur was almost amused, and the dark haired man turned to look at Envy directly, smirking.

Narrowing his eyes as he realized this was one of his mother's suitors, he spun on his heel to go inside. He could change his nose. He could change everything. And he would. He would just as soon as he got back at that man for implying otherwise.


	4. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siblings were... different.

Envy leaned on the wall to nurse his headache. For the first week, Greed had been amusing. 

After that the amusement slowly turned to wariness. All efforts to deflect the young sin to Dante or Lust had backfired, making him even more persistent. Running seemed had seemed a viable option after the failures, but proved a bad tactic, Greed would catch up. 

Just like now. 

Envy knew hiding would be futile. Tried and failed in fact.

“I have a question for you!”

Envy felt a sickly grin cross his face with the feared words. “Really?”

“Yes. Why are plants green?”


	5. Dusty toy-box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally resume the saga of young Envy...

  
Precise steps were key. Mistakes were never tolerated, failure was just that, unforgiven. It was a dance he'd had to learn, and wished he never had to. He was confused by the changes requested of him. He was young, he didn't know why she wanted what she did of him, but he'd give. In absence of his creator, he'd give and give until he had nothing left if there was a hope of soothing the ache.

Rejection was more than clear in his mind, pain a constant companion offered to compensate the knowledge of being unwanted. He'd let himself be swept under the wing of someone not his creator, been taken in and used as she saw fit.

It did not matter what little things her requests broke inside him. It did not matter when he had uncertainties of his own identity. It did not matter when he flinched away from her eyes. It did not matter what his opinion was, because he had no choice. He'd started weak, and was now stronger than her.

It made no difference.

He was the favored pet, the perfect companion forged into various forms to inspire jealousies in others, the perfect toy to be used when she wanted to lure in some girl, or to break someone's heart. He was perfect to turn into the little girl she never had, to offer as a sultry maiden as a bribe to keep someone out of their affairs. He was perfect for anything she could possibly ask of him.

She never asked his opinion. She never asked him his mind or desires, for they were not important to her. She asked for specific things, simple things. She knew his intelligence and denied him use of it. It was her choice. She owned him as only an alchemist could own, and he was forced to bow to that.

When she started creating others, there was panic. Did he not satisfy her wishes any longer? Did he fail to do anything she wanted? Lust, Greed, things that he had tried to fill in his own ways and failed.

Lust was beautiful, but he knew he could be better. He could be better, and he was scorned for trying to show that. He was to bow to the younger ones, give them whatever they might so desire of him. He was to teach them to behave as she asked, things she never asked of him. Lust she'd ask knowledge of, spying and intelligence that she'd never once trusted him with. Greed she used as a fighter, an assassin in the dark when she'd claimed him too weak to attend those wishes.

Bloodied hands won him no more favor than a beautiful form, and he was punished for stepping beyond his orders. Diminished before an audience of his own kind as trying too hard to be something he wasn't. He failed to remember his place. He failed to remember that he was only what she willed him to be.

It could all be blamed on the one who created him. He'd been abandoned to these callous mercies by his creator. If the creator had not left him he would not have had the ache of pain nor the fear of rejection. He would have no cause to be jealous of replacements for there would have been none. He blamed his creator for leaving him to a cruel mistress who thrived on her own selfishness.

He blamed and blamed, knowing that he would share the misery at some point. He'd find his creator again and be with him, and if he wasn't accepted he could force the hand. He'd do what he had to to make the pain of rejection finally go away. He'd do what he had to so he would not be in this place again.

He was never meant to have a mistress. He was not created to be such. He was created to be changeable, moldable, and ultimately given life in a manner fitting those abilities.

He was created to not be cast aside with untapped resources. He was created not to be a toy at all.

But he was.

He had no idea how to change the fact that he was.


	6. Elder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written February 2006

“I’m sorry, there’s simply nothing left here for you.” The words were softly spoken, almost gentle, but the reaction was as expected, a sharp, startled breath snapping through the air.

“That isn’t true… There’s no way that could be-!” The younger of the pair made a frustrated noise, ran a hand through short hair in agitation when it seemed there was no reason for the abruptness of the statement. “Why now?”

“Why not now?” Looking over his shoulder, the original speaker swept long strands behind him. “It’s not like we have anything in common anymore. You have your goals, and they hardly get along with mine.”

“I wouldn’t have stayed here at all if you hadn’t convinced me to. You’re a pretty persistent bastard when you decide you set your mind to something. I’ve missed _chances_ because of you.” 

The slender figure stepped in close, and the older of the two just rested his hands on the younger’s chest, walking him backwards with an almost wicked looking smile. “I know. You should have taken them.”

Violet eyes widened, but the shove that had been placed in the middle of his chest sprawled him out on the array, it flaring to life around him. He didn’t know if it was better or worse when broken laughter assaulted his ears, the elder sin spinning to flee the room.

Either way, it would hardly be the last time he trusted too much.


	7. The Nothing

He was nothing. That’s what it came down to in the end. That was what he refused to ever admit. He was nothing, and he couldn’t forget it. He couldn’t forget it until the one that had created him was shredded, torn to bits and destroyed under his hands. Once he was dead, once they were all dead, then he’d be allowed to forget. Then he’d be able to live.

He wasn’t like the others. He didn’t want to die. He would never want to die. He’d been like he was for far too long to let it go. He just wanted to be human. He wanted the ones that created him, no them, all of them to die. He wanted to destroy them, then everything would be alright.

He’d be able to forget then, because then nobody would stop him. He’d live, he’d watch, and he would not die.

He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of him dying. Not ever.


End file.
